


The very slow seduction of Mycroft Holmes

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complete, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Other people really have more like cameos, a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 20,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade is a simple man with simple needs. Mycroft Holmes is anything but. So how does a relationship between these two even begin to work?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This will be as canon compliant as I can make it, so if you spot any timeline (or other) screw ups please let me know in the comments.
> 
> Beta'd by the ever wonderful Dimar.

They first met on a crime scene. It was the end of Sherlock’s very first case working with DS Lestrade and the young “consulting detective” had managed to get himself injured while chasing the criminal down, when suddenly a man in an immaculate three-piece suit appeared, a young attractive woman at his heel. Lestrade was just about wrapping things up and didn’t take too kindly to some two-bit paper pusher meddling in his case.

“Excuse me, Sir, but this is a crime scene. No one unauthorized is allowed here.”

“Of course.” The man in the suit gave a small smile and pulled out a card to show to him.

Inwardly Lestrade cursed when he recognized the seals on the small piece of paper making it very clear that the bearer could go anywhere he damn well pleased. The assistant held out a similar means of identification. He recognized the name only as an afterthought. The policeman gave the man before him a tightlipped smile.

“I’m sure you’ll understand, Mr. Holmes, that under the circumstances I need some outside verification.” 

He’d be damned if he let someone bully his way onto a crime scene because of obvious personal reasons. There were procedures for this kind of thing. The man before him slightly crooked his head. For the first time he seemed to actually register the man in front of him. Mycroft Holmes took a good long look at the policeman. Obviously an idealist when it came to helping people, able to ignore his pride for the greater good and equally obvious already fond of his little brother. Details like the handsome looks, the well-fitting if not overly expensive clothes, the wedding band and dozens upon dozens of details anyone but himself (and maybe Sherlock) would have missed, were already stored away for later use in the immense hard drive of his brain.

“Of course.” Mycroft gave a slight acknowledging nod. 

Lestrade was surprised. He would have expected some kind of tantrum maybe combined with a threat. Very few powerful men took well to challenges to their authority. Now it seemed as if he didn’t react at all. His assistant continued to vividly type on her phone while the older Holmes just smiled at him and waited patiently, hands on his brolly. Lestrade was about to say something when his mobile rang. It wasn’t too often that a mere DS got a call from the Super telling him to “give Mr. Holmes everything he requests.” He had little chance to say anything but “Yes, Sir,” before the call was over again. The man in the suit had the decency to wait for Lestrade to give him permission before he continued towards the younger Holmes. His assistant just stayed where she was, apparently unwanted at the exchange.

Lestrade didn’t remember many details of the rest of the night. Mycroft Holmes very obviously berated Sherlock for breaking his leg while running around after common thugs. Afterwards he had an intense exchange with the paramedics when they arrived. But all that happened in the background while Lestrade had to concentrate on other aspects of his job.  
One thing he would always remember though - Mycroft Holmes calling him DI Lestrade as he left. When Greg corrected him, the older Holmes just said: “That won’t be for too long. After this case and if you stick with my brother, it will be about six months before you make it to detective inspector.”

Five months, three weeks and two days later his promotion came through.

 

Over the following years DI Lestrade and Mycroft “a minor member of the British government” Holmes developed a strange yet nonetheless working relationship. Their main common interest was - of course - Sherlock. Both men deeply cared for the difficult young genius and wanted what was best for him. 

Their relation was kind of lopsided. Every other month Lestrade found a text or email somehow relating to Sherlock. Sometimes it was a difficult but interesting case that would catch the consulting detective’s fancy. Sometimes it was a subtle call for a drugs bust and the implicit expectation that Lestrade would go easy on a certain somebody who might get swept up. Sometimes it was information about Sherlock being in trouble somewhere. And rarely - very rarely - it was a request for a meeting, so Mycroft could get a general status report on Sherlock’s well-being.

It took Lestrade some time to figure out why Mycroft Holmes went to the trouble of going through him instead of using more direct means to help his little brother. But after witnessing several exchanges between the siblings he finally understood how helpless the otherwise powerful man was when it came to his little brother.  
Coming from this unique perspective, Greg Lestrade was one of the very few people who saw Mycroft Holmes as a human being.


	2. Subconscious thoughts

When John appeared on the scene, Greg liked him immediately and was relieved to see that Mycroft Holmes accepted him as well.

Lots of things changed most of them for the better. An actual Christmas party at Baker Street would have been unthinkable two years ago. Lestrade was looking forward to it. The last two months had been uncharacteristically shitty and he could use the break, especially if he and the wife actually had a chance of making it work again.

The first disappointment was when he learned that Mycroft Holmes wouldn’t make an appearance. Greg was at the bottom of his heart a family man. And he loved Christmas as a time of forgiveness and minor miracles. He had really hoped to see the two brothers reconcile even if it was just for one night. If the peace hadn’t lasted then at least he would have been able to witness some first-class banter. Alas it wasn’t meant to be. And then Sherlock oh so casually destroyed any hope he had left for his marriage. Greg spent a good portion of the evening with a wineglass in his hand that seemed to empty up almost on its own, trying to forget all about PE teachers and the way he had leered at poor Molly Hooper earlier. That girl was far too good for a pure revenge-fuck and he was ashamed that his mind had gone there for even a fragment of a second. Then Sherlock and Molly left later in the evening for the body of Irene Adler.

 

_“Adler, isn’t that “The Woman”? Your brother involved with a dominatrix?” Greg did keep up with the gossip at least somewhat._

_“Sherlock had no idea naturally, I had to explain the concept of ‘recreational scolding’ to him.” Mycroft smirked._

_“Well Mr. Holmes I wasn’t aware you were familiar with the concept. You aren’t one of Adler’s ‘wealthy, powerful but discreet’ clients are you?”_

_The older Holmes frowned and Lestrade was about to apologize for crossing the boundaries of polite conversation, when he answered matter-of-factly “I would hardly go to a woman, inspector.”_

 

Greg offered John his help but considering his blood alcohol level he wasn’t of much use. He helped with searching the flat but when they didn’t find anything Mrs Hudson - bless her soul - called him a cab. Before falling asleep in his own home, Greg’s mind idly wondered why he had remembered that particular little conversation earlier tonight. Maybe his brain on booze tried to tell him something. Well Mycroft Holmes DEFINITELY was too good for a revenge-fuck and way out of his league anyway so he told his brain to keep its stupid ideas to itself and fell asleep.


	3. Some things change, some don't

The last conversation on Christmas had made it completely clear that his marriage was over and Greg decided to take a good long vacation once his divorce was through. Some time away from dreary London and sunbathing on a nice little beach did a lot to lighten his mood. He was closer to fifty than forty and was newly single. He might never find another human he would want to spend the rest of his life with, but damn it. He was fit, relatively good-looking (as people around him told him time and again) and he was free of a relationship that had been more of a prison than anything else these last few years. When he returned to his new flat (the wife had kept the house) and threw his suitcase into a corner he was feeling free and happy. Work would start on Monday but he didn’t mind. Even Sally’s grouchy face would be a welcome familiar thing. He hadn’t even gotten out of his shoes when his mobile rang.

“Welcome back DI Lestrade.”

“Mr. Holmes. Is everything alright with Sherlock?” There really was only one reason for the government official to phone him.

“That is a good question, Inspector. A very good question indeed. He and Dr. Watson are currently up in Baskerville involved in some sort of shenanigans.”

There was a short pause. ”And you have no one there to keep an eye on them. Probably not much CCTV to speak of either.”

“Indeed.”

“Mr Holmes I just returned from a vacation.”

“I heard Baskerville is lovely around this time of year. And somehow your leave has been extended for a week - fully paid of course.”

Mycroft Holmes simply assumed that Greg would be ready to do this for him. He wondered if he should feel offended.

“I’d be considerably grateful if you did this favour for me, Inspector. And I would sleep better knowing that someone adult was there keeping an eye on him.”

Greg smiled. The elder Holmes had sounded actually honest with him there.

“I’ll just throw a couple of new clothes into my suitcase; Baskerville and Italy have slightly different requirements.”

“Thank you, Inspector.”


	4. Two years - interlude with Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is away hunting down Moriarty's men. But what does Mycroft do?

When Sherlock ‘died’ it changed a lot of things. For a while Mycroft was incredibly busy, helping his brother with travel arrangements, false papers, and intelligence. There were the assassins to take care of, surveillance for their would-be victims to be arranged and besides all that their very ordinary parents who needed to be reassured that everything was going to be OK.

Then came the funeral. A dreadful affair where Dr. Watson’s eyes continued to shoot daggers at him and Mrs. Hudson with her red, swollen face looked at him the way Mummy did when she’d found out about his smoking. That day more or less went as anticipated. Only people Sherlock had known and helped over the years turned up. Those who knew of his alleged role in this tragedy looked at him with anger, hate, or contempt. Molly Hooper had excused herself, claiming she wouldn’t be able to face the reality of the funeral. A luxury Mycroft simply couldn’t afford if the illusion should survive the test of time. The only surprise that day came in the form of DI Lestrade. Just when Mycroft was about to leave, he suddenly found himself face to face with the inspector. His expression was interesting: sadness, anger, and guilt - but nothing of that directed at the government official.

“I know this is hard on you Mr. Holmes, harder than for any of us except maybe John. I also know that you have even less patience for sentiment than your brother. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sure the whole scandal will blow over and the truth will come out eventually and… well it’s not really important, is it? I just… well I’m sorry. That’s all.”

The inspector actually managed to surprise him from time to time. Sherlock really collected the most interesting specimens around him.

 

Two years passed. Two years of worrying about Sherlock from afar, praying that the lie would remain a lie. Two years of making sure that his brother’s reputation would be saved at just the right moment, not too late but not too early. Two years of keeping an eye on Mrs. Hudson, Doctor Watson, DI Lestrade and Molly Hooper, ensuring that Sherlock would have a life to get back to. - They didn’t know, of course. He saw none of them after the funeral except for a handful of run-ins with the detective inspector on strictly official business. They treated each other with courtesy but nothing more. - Two years of paying the rent on Baker Street so Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t have to find new tenants. Two years of various crises that he had to take care of to keep him occupied. Two years of keeping his parents’ fears in check by telling them gentle lies and half-truths.

It was almost a relief when he went into Serbia to get Sherlock out - almost. The smell, the dirt, and the permanent threat of physical violence made the experience as a whole quite unpleasant. He could have sent someone else but that would have taken time. After two years Mycroft Holmes found that he had run out of patience.

Getting Sherlock out worked relatively well. And his brother actually showed something akin to gratefulness. During the escape from the military compound, while cleaning him up and dressing his wounds in some shabby hotel, and for the duration of the flight back to London, Sherlock refrained from pushing his buttons even once - no questions about his diet, no angry snarls to stay out of his life and not even a cold comment about Mycroft’s position. It was one of the longest peaceful periods between them that either could remember. Even when Mycroft gave his little brother the scarce information about the current problem, Sherlock didn’t protest the assignment once. It was the younger Holmes’ way of saying “Thank you for spending another two years taking care of my messes and watching my back, brother-mine.”

They didn’t exchange much sentiment, it wasn’t who they were. It had broken Mycroft’s heart to watch his little brother being tortured. He’d felt a surge of pride when clever little Sherlock, despite the circumstances, so easily manipulated the torturer to leave. Not like anything like that could ever be spoken out loud.

 

On the flight it was Sherlock who finally addressed a subject that was not purely practical in nature.

“How are our parents?” His voice sounded almost bored as he looked out of the window avoiding to face his brother.

“Mummy and Father are fine, Sherlock.” The obvious warmth in his voice made his brother look over in surprise. But Mycroft had already turned away, looking up ahead as he steadily continued. “They were worried, of course, but I could keep the exact nature of your ‘excursion’ from them. They were both relieved when the truth about Moriarty’s scheme to discredit you became publically known. Mummy understood what it meant immediately.”

Sherlock smiled. It looked odd with that terrible, unkempt abomination in his face but the fact remained that he smiled.

“After she explained to Father that you’d be home soon, he became terribly excited. I’m afraid he expects some adventure-filled report of your last two years once you’re back.”

“Don’t worry Mycroft. I’ll keep it nice and short and I’ll avoid any delicate secrets.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

 

Back in London with his coat and without his beard, Sherlock turned into his old self almost immediately. Conversations became more tedious.

“Do you know how difficult it was to save you?”

“I saved myself.”

“You were in a room underground, in chains, half-naked, beat-up, and surrounded by a base full of enemies ready to shoot you on sight. Getting rid of the torturer - while admirable - hardly counts as ‘saving yourself’, Sherlock.”

“Minor details. I would have been fine.”

“Of course, brother-mine. Me opening your chains, giving you food, water, and clothes, half carrying you to the helicopter I had arranged for us, those were all mere nuisances. - You know, some people might have said ‘Thank you’.”

“I never asked for your help.”

“You never had to.”

Mycroft considered warning Sherlock about Mary. When his subtle hints were ignored, he decided against pressing the matter though. With the recently re-upgraded surveillance status of Dr. Watson, he was sure he wouldn’t miss anything important and would be able to interfere if necessary.

 

Incredibly enough, Sherlock seemed to feel the need to share.

“Did you know about Mary?  
SH”

“Naturally.  
MH”

“Why didn’t you tell me?  
SH”

“I tried to. Like always you didn’t listen.  
MH”

“Also some things you need to find out for yourself.  
MH”

“John punched me.  
SH”

“Naturally.  
MH”

 

“Mrs. Hudson is quite the screamer.  
SH”

“It’s a good thing she has a healthy heart.  
This might have been too much otherwise.  
MH”

“She’s feeding me biscuits.  
SH”

“See it as an atonement for your sins.  
MH”

“Apparently someone paid my rent while I was gone.  
SH”

“You’re welcome.  
MH”

 

“Lestrate hugged me.  
SH”

“I’ve been assured that that’s a sign of affection.  
MH”

“He started smoking again.  
SH”

"His last cases were rather gruesome.  
The dear inspector always had trouble dealing with dead children.  
I’m sure he’ll beat the habit again in no time.  
MH”

It was rather nice that Sherlock tried not to exclude him from his life for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I couldn't have the ACTUAL seduction start before the "Sherlock is dead" period. I couldn't have My lie to Gregory if they had already arrived in the courtship phase. I simply couldn't


	5. first name terms

Mycroft spent the afternoon at the Diogenes Club. He could get a lot of his work done here in peace and quiet and with no interruption. Too many people knew where his office was and thought it was an invitation to drop by and pester him with their silly little inconsequential request. People knew about the Diogenes as well but thanks to social conventions a gentleman’s club was still considered sacrosanct. Due to his position Mycroft had managed to permanently occupy one of the three ‘visitor’ rooms as his own and he regularly used it as his home away from home. When the door opened and an unexpected visitor dropped in, he was surprised to see it wasn’t his brother but a certain detective inspector. One of the club’s employees discreetly checked if it was allowed for the policeman to enter. When Mycroft nodded, he took the cue and left, closing the door behind him as he did. Only when they were cut off from the rest of the club, the government official spoke.

“Detective Inspector, to what circumstances do I owe the pleasure?” He made a courteous, inviting gesture. “Please, take a seat.”

Lestrade sat down. He studied the man before him for an uncomfortably long time. Mycroft was almost ready to speak himself when the DI finally broke the silence.

“You knew.” It wasn’t really a question.

Mycroft gave a small polite smile. “I was involved in my brother’s plans, yes.”

The DI nodded in acknowledgement. And for once Mycroft had no idea what to expect of his vis-a-vis. He knew Lestrade could be quite emotional in a way that was hard for him to anticipate.

“It must have been difficult to keep up the lie all this time. Watching almost all the world believing Sherlock to be a fraud and having the few who believed in him blame you for his death.” There was a compassion in Lestrade’s voice that Mycroft almost couldn’t believe was directed his way.

“I’m used to dealing with difficult situations,” he explained calmly. “Especially when it comes to my little brother.”

Lestrade grinned. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

Mycroft studied the inspector as if he was an especially interesting specimen under a microscope. When he caught himself staring, he gave a little polite cough. “Now is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, a lot probably. But that’s not why I’m here. I mainly came to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Well I guess it was you who took care of the assassins Sherlock told me about.”

“Indeed.”

“Thanks for saving my life then - and John’s and Mrs. Hudson’s of course.” Seeing Holmes’ expression, Greg came to a startling conclusion. “Look at you. You’re absolutely baffled by the fact that someone thanks you for saving their life.”

“It doesn’t usually happen.” Mycroft admitted

“Guess that comes with working from the shadows.” The policeman smiled warmly. “But our jobs aren’t about public acknowledgement, right?” Greg got up. “Well now, I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other again, Mr. Holmes, so until then…” He was just about to open the door to leave, when he heard,

“Mycroft will be fine, Inspector.”

He couldn’t help the grin as he answered. “The name’s Greg, Mycroft.”

“Yes - very well. Goodbye then, Gregory.”


	6. I'm miserable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock might refuse to save his big brother from the hell he's going through, but Greg (and work-related emergencies) won't abandon Mycroft in his hour of need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record - I LOVE "Les Miserables" and think it's about the best thing since sliced bread. Musicals just aren't Mycroft's forte.

Mycroft loved his parents. He really did. And if he reminded himself of that fact often enough he might be able to resist the urge for patricide. Currently his father and mother were happily chattering away at the merchandise stand inside while his brother - once again - refused to come to his rescue. The British Government forcefully put his phone away and pulled out a cigarette. The intermission would be long enough for having a smoke and he felt rebellious enough that, at the moment, he didn’t even care if Mummy caught him indulging in his vice. To make a bad afternoon worse, his lighter chose that exact moment to give up on him.

“Need a light?”

The familiar voice startled him. He wouldn’t have expected to meet the policeman under this circumstances.

“Gregory? Oh and yes, please.”

“Wow, you sound like a man drowning.” Lestrate lit the cigarette and Mycroft took a long calming drag.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a ‘Les Mis’ guy.” Amusement was oozing from the silver haired man.

“I’m not. Sadly though there are duties and obligations I can’t easily skip.”

“I like ‘Les Mis’,” Greg stated with a grin.

“The music is loud and unsubtle, the texts are atrociously on the nose, and the story puts far too much emphasis on a supposed “love story” between two people with about as much personality as a piece of cardboard. It’s not too bad for a musical but frankly the only person who I think does anything worth of admiration is the bishop and even he has to sing about it.”

“Manipulating Valjean to become honest with a few candelabras?”

“Valjean never shakes the bishop’s influence. Decades later that one act is still dictating his whole life. Minimal effort for a maximum effect.”

Lestrade laughed. “Of course you’d appreciate that. Me, I always liked Javert.”

“A policeman of principle - of course,” Mycroft nodded. “Are you here on your own?”

“I’m on a date. He’s currently using the gents though.”

“Your body language implies that you’re not too comfortable right now. I can assure you I won’t judge your private affairs in any way, Gregory.”

“Nah, that’s not it. It’s just that he’s - well let’s just say I love the musical but I’m still praying for some kind of work emergency to get me out of here.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Before Gregory was able to elaborate in any way though his phone’s vibrate function went off.

“Excuse me.” Greg took the call. “Donovan? … What?! Where? … I’m on my way.”

“It seems your wish was granted, Inspector.”

Lestrade’s face held no trace of humour. “Dead copper.” His voice was quiet enough to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard by anyone but the elder Holmes. “An undercover operative was found dead in Mark Lane.”

The name sent a jolt through Mycroft. There were things in Mark Lane he couldn’t have the ordinary police - or worse the public - find out about. And if there was one DI in London who might be thorough enough to actually uncover these things by accident it was the man before him. Mycroft assumed the dead policeman wouldn’t have anything to do with his own operation but only actually going there himself would tell him for sure.

“May I offer you a ride, Inspector?”

“What about your other obligations?”

“I’m sure they’ll be understanding. I’m just doing my duty as a good citizen helping out the police after all.”

 

In the end Mummy and Father were understanding; after he had convinced them he wasn’t just skipping out on them that is. For a retired math professor and housewife his mother could be astoundingly paranoid.

His driver dropped them off at Mark Lane only to return to pick up his parents. He would never hear the end of it if he’d left them without a means to return to their hotel. Gregory was surprised when his driver just left but Mycroft didn’t feel like explaining himself. The inspector thought his obligations had been of a purely professional nature and the government official was more than happy to let him.

“Thanks for the ride, Mycroft, but you really don’t need to stay here.”

Holmes gave him a tight smile. One of the polite official ones he used all the time when dealing with people. Not one of the rare genuine ones he’d earned earlier by lighting his fag.

“Let’s just say I’m curious.”

Greg shrugged. There was literally nothing he could do to stop the British Government to do whatever he wanted. He wasn’t about to stay around just for his entertainment though. He was here on a job after all.

Lestrade spent the next hour getting updated on the situation. He’d known the dead copper. Gerald and him hadn’t exactly been friends. Friendships were far too difficult to uphold during longtime undercover ops. But they might have been. Gerald had been a good copper, a decent man, and Greg would find out who did this to him and make sure they were locked away for a very long time.

Mycroft Holmes was lingering around in the background. For a man in a three-piece suit and an aura of authority and power he could be extremely inconspicuous. He looked around but didn’t touch. He made some calls out of earshot of everyone. He made sure not to get in anyone’s way. He was his brother’s complete antonym when it came to behaviour at a crime scene. But he simply didn’t go away.

Greg’s mood was getting worse and worse as the time went on. Whoever had murdered Gerald had been very cautious about not leaving any bloody clues - at least none his forensic team could find. This promised to become a long and frustrating investigation. When he looked around at the elder Holmes he realized that whatever had driven him to stay wasn’t as bad as his own reason apparently. The government official looked slightly more relaxed than when they had arrived.

“I don’t mean to be rude but what are you still doing here, Mycroft?” His tone was distinctly impatient.

He was faced once again with one of those small, polite, official smiles. At that moment Greg felt like punching the professional mask off of the face before him.

“I’m sure you have figured out that I wasn’t simply fleeing ‘Les Mis’ when I drove you here. I had business of my own to attend. I’m happy to say that all of my fears seem to be unfounded though.”

“Congratulations, Mycroft. Now care to explain to me what business you had with a dead copper?”

“It turns out none at all. This was nothing but a mere coincidence of geographical nature. And no I can’t go into further details.”

“Of course not. Bloody Holmesian secrecy,” he growled under his breath. He turned around planning fully well to ignore the British Government until they had wrapped up around here.

“May I suggest forensic to take a close look at the departed’s hair, as well as the wall in the side street right over there?”

Lestrade shot around. “Why?”

“If you find your colleague’s watch in the gutter there, I’d highly recommend to check the alibi of Miss Sheridan - she was his current ‘liaison’, wasn’t she?”

“Let me guess, while poking around you couldn’t help but notice a few things?” Greg forced his anger back. Mycroft despite being an irritating twat about it, did only try to help. “Thanks I guess.”

“Not telling you would be an obstruction of justice. I’m just doing my duty as a good citizen.”

Lestrade studied the man before him to determine if that last comment was meant completely serious. Faced with the impassive mask of Mycroft Holmes it was almost impossible to tell but Greg would have sworn he saw a twinkle of amusement in those eyes. Unwilling to bet, he just turned around and addressed his team: “Oi you lot, have you combed through that alley yet?”

 

Less than 48 hours later they had Callista Sheridan’s confession.

 

Mycroft found himself once again surprised by the inspector, when he received a package a few days later. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the ‘Thanks for your help’ note attached to a ten-year-anniversary Les Miserables CD.


	7. Talk over Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In some regards Greg is actually cleverer than Mycroft. One of the many talks the British Government and a certain DI had about the world's only consulting detective.

“Hello Gregory.”

As always the elder Holmes was already there expecting him. For a man whose schedule probably was fuller than that of the Queen herself, he made sure he always had time when it came to his brother.

“Mycroft.” He sat down at the small corner table. When the waitress came over he ordered a cup of tea and a sandwich. He looked at the government official who took a sip from his Earl Grey but seemed content.

“The job kept you from having a real lunch again?”

Greg grinned. “Not everyone can have a PA who delivers us food whenever we want.”

“You could always ask Sgt. Donovan,” Mycroft suggested.

“Thanks but I value my life AND my testicles.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Look at you all proper and uncomfortable.” Greg shook his head. “Don’t think you can fool me though, Mycroft Holmes. I remember a certain conversation we had a few years back about Ms. Adler. Still waters do run deep.”

His gentle teasing earned him a raised eyebrow but nothing more. Lestrade was pretty proud that he was able to anticipate how far he was allowed to go with the elder Holmes without him closing up.

“You did meet with my brother this week, I believe.”

“Sherlock is doing fine. He’s his usual annoying self. I shouldn’t say this but when he waltzed into the station and made a fool out of Sally, all I could do was not to collapse in a fit of laughter.”

“I thought you respected your Sergeant?”

“I do. Sally is a good copper and an ace Sergeant. But she can be a stuck up bitch on her bad days. And Sherlock naturally brings out the worst in her.”

“My brother does have that tendency, I’m afraid.”

“She did provoke him, so it’s her own fault really. But learning that Sally ‘I’m tough as nails’ Donovan has a past of ballet lessons…” He shook his head. “Well Sally has at least half a year of finding ballet shoes and tutus on her desk, in her locker, and about everywhere else to look forward to. I wonder if Sherlock knows how cruel he really was.”

“My brother has known Sally Donovan for five years now and has never mentioned that fact up until now. What do you think, Gregory?”

“I think that Sally should have never made the mistake of telling Sherlock that John wouldn’t take him back now that he had a real girlfriend.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “Her assumptions could be considered quite presumptuous by someone ill-disposed.”

“She can be an ass alright, but she’s a good Sergeant. So I’d rather not lose her just because you feel a bit overprotective.” Greg pointed out with some conviction.

The government official gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you unnecessarily.”

“Thanks. - Like I said Sherlock seems fine. He settles in nicely even if he gets a bit bored without John. Don’t look like that. I know bored is dangerous, but right now he just drops into the station more often than he used to. He doesn’t say it but I’ve got the feeling he’s still adapting to being back in London.”

“Two years is a long time.” The elder Holmes closed his eyes for a moment. “I just hope that he adapts quickly enough. I need his eyes in this.”

“Mycroft, not to point out the obvious, but have you thought about visiting your brother yourself?”

“Sherlock never had much patience when it came to my presence in his life, as you well know Gregory.”

Lestrade sighed. “I know that that’s been true for as long as I’ve known you two. But the biggest problem has always been that he didn’t want you to try and protect him. Two years ago he came and asked for your help. You gave him what he needed and more importantly wanted. You didn’t try to talk him out of anything. Maybe he’s willing to accept your presence as long as you hold back on the meddling.”

“I’d hardly call my involvement in my brother’s life ‘meddling’ but I do see your point. I’m still not convinced that he would react positively to me appearing at Baker Street for a chat though.”

Very few people would have recognized it but Mycroft Holmes was obviously nervous about approaching his brother. He was afraid of being rejected yet again,

“Look I know Sherlock can be a stubborn ass. But two years IS a long time. I think even he might be ready for a new start. Especially now that he hasn’t really re-conquered London and his friendship with John still needs to heal. You are a constant in his life and spending time with you might help him regain his old confidence. To be honest I think that’s part of the reason he hangs around the Yard so much - because I’m still there and nothing has changed in that regard. And if you use all those mad diplomatic skills you honed on the job, you might be able to use this time of change to establish a new, better relationship with your brother.”

“A lesser man might think you don’t like our little meetings.”

“A more stupid man might think you’re NOT trying to distract from the problem.”

Mycroft laughed. Lestrade was dumbfounded. He’d never thought he’d hear anything but a polite chuckle out of the government official’s mouth. It was almost shocking at first but then he realized he actually liked the sound. So much so that he decided he would try to hear it more often.

“Very well, you win Gregory. I will try to actually spend some more time with my brother personally. The case should give me a good-enough excuse to make such an attempt without directly resorting to sentiment. But don’t expect me to let you off the hook so easily. I would very much like to continue our meetings for the time being.”

“Fine by me, as long as you’re paying for tea and sandwiches I’m game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in my version of Sherlock-reality, Lestrade is the reason behind Sherlock and Mycroft playing childish games in Baker Street.


	8. Posh Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has to arrest someone in a position of power, guess who he runs into

Lestrade hated certain aspects of his job. He could live with paperwork. He could deal with gruesome crime scenes. He could even survive press conferences. What he really didn’t like was when someone thought he was somehow ‘better’ than him. It was one of the reasons why he hadn’t made DCI yet. He clashed heads with his superiors too often. Even in the force there were people who thought a higher income automatically meant they were right in any given conflict. The fact that Lestrade struck to his convictions even if they were unpopular (and often turned out to be right in the end) didn’t make him all that popular with the higher-ups. He tried to be diplomatic. He really did. But he couldn’t help but protest obvious idiocy when he saw it. He got along great with most people. He was an easygoing guy under most circumstances. The problem was that idiocy seemed to concentrate in the higher income bracket for some reason. So when a murder case turned up a member of the House of Lords as the prime suspect, Lestrade knew he was screwed. Even with an airtight case it would be near to impossible to get a conviction and either way his career would be over. It was a good thing he cared far more about justice than his career or a murderer might have stayed on the loose.

Lord Llanfrechfa’s party was an absolute must for everyone who was anyone. Not the sad little excuses the tabloids so regularly reported on but the people with the real power. Not young and semi-attractive celebrities, but members of old families. Men of unremarkable appearances whose family estates could house the population of minor villages. Women whose jewellery was small and tasteful and could buy a family enough food to last a year. Centuries of careful breeding had ensured that these people while not necessarily highly intelligent all possessed a predatory finesse that was almost infallible when it came to furthering one’s own advantage. There was so much accumulated wealth and power at this place that a bomb going off during the party would have seriously imbalanced the United Kingdom for the time it would have taken to sort everything out.

“DI Lestrade. Is Lord Llanfrechfa at home?” He showed his credentials to the butler who looked at him as if he was something extremely unappetizing that he’d found under his shoe. The question was a pure formality. There was obviously some party going on and Greg doubted the host would be anywhere else.

“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong entrance, Inspector.”

“Is this Llanfrechfa’s residence or not?”

“This is indeed Lord Llanfrechfa’s London townhouse, but…”

“Then we’re at the right entrance.” Greg gave the butler his best ‘friendly, stupid copper’ smile. If the man would actually try to suggest the servants’ entrance, he might need to get extremely rude. He started to barge in not giving the butler adequate time to protest. “Now Lord Llanfrechfa…”

“Is entertaining guests at the moment. I’m afraid you will have to come back at a more convenient time.”

“I’m afraid not, mate.” Lestrade held up the arrest warrant. “We must insist to meet his Lordship right now.”

The butler nodded once. Greg had to grant it to the man. He didn’t show any outward sign of nervousness just a slight distaste for the DI’s obvious bad manners. 

“Of course if you will wait here, I’ll fetch his Lordship immediately.”

“I don’t think so, mate. While I doubt he could escape with us having secured the house and all, I would hate to force his Lordship to run in his evening attire in a feeble attempt to escape justice. That would be inappropriate, wouldn’t it?”

Greg and his team followed the butler on the heel. One of the best weapons in the arsenal of any policeman was not giving the suspect (or their associates) time to think. When they entered the parlour a wave of silence spread through the room with them at the epicentre. Heads turned and everyone stared. When they reached Llanfrechfa every conversation in the room had died. Lestrade kept his cool by simply ignoring everyone who wasn’t the Welsh aristocrat who he knew had killed some poor prostitute two weeks ago. Probably hadn’t been the first but this was the first time he would have to pay for it.

“Lord Llanfrechfa?”

“Yes?” The man’s voice was pure snotty annoyance.

“I hereby arrest you for the murder of Colleen Saunders.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, man.” Llanfrechfa actually started to laugh

Greg almost lost it. He was this close to punch the grin of that arsehole’s face, which of course would have rendered the whole arrest very easily attackable. A voice suddenly speaking up stopped him from that stupid mistake though.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade is NEVER ridiculous, Daffyd.” Every pair of eyes in the room turned towards Mycroft Holmes who had just put down a glass of wine as he spoke. “In fact, he is one of Scotland Yard’s finest officers.”

His Lordship’s face had turned into a snarl. “I won’t be insulted by a ‘policeman’ in my own home.” The way he’d spat out the word it sounded like the worst insult he could think of (probably right there with ‘servant’ Greg couldn’t help but thinking). “I invited you into my home, Holmes, I expected more gratefulness from the likes of you.”

Mycroft’s face looked absolutely bored. “Please Daffyd, try to keep your composure. This is embarrassing enough for your guests as it is, without you losing your countenance.”

And gradually the mood in the room shifted. Every bit of contempt that had been directed at Greg and his men up until now suddenly turned on Llanfrechfa.

Greg couldn’t help but smile as he read the man his rights when he put the cuffs on him. There was a murmur running through the crowd at that new affront, but Llanfrechfa’s aggressive reaction kept the mood from turning on the policemen. They actually made the collar, they didn’t have to resort to threats of authority or violence. They’d done it by the book and had dozens of witnesses. They might actually have a chance to make this stick.

 

Lestrade looked as the police car carrying Llanfrechfa left. He took a few moments to catch a bit of the cool night air to calm his nerves before he would follow to the station and start on his report. He noticed that most of the guests were leaving hastily all of them using the back entrance. Suddenly it had become quite unfashionable to be seen at his Lordship’s party it seemed. He grinned as he lit himself a fag.

“That is a nasty habit and you should really stop,” a mild voice told him from the shadows.

“Look who’s talking. You want one?”

“I prefer my own brand.” Mycroft held out a low tar, filtered abomination. “But I wouldn’t say no to your lighter.”

Lestrade lit his cigarette. “This going to be a thing now? You asking me for a light?”

Mycroft smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope you have an airtight case there, Gregory. His Lordship can afford the very best solicitors in the country.”

“I have or I wouldn’t have come here. I’m not that suicidal when it comes to my career.” He blew out some smoke. “Thank you, Mycroft. If you hadn’t intervened it might have gotten ugly.”

“Indeed.” The elder Holmes agreed.

“I shouldn’t be surprised to meet you at such an occasion. These are your kind of people after all.”

Mycroft’s face closed up. “Hardly. If they were, I wouldn’t have spoken out.” He put his cigarette down and killed the glow under his heel. “Good Night, Inspector.”

Greg cursed himself and his stupidity as the government official left.

 

When he lay in bed later that night, trying to fall asleep, Lestrade couldn’t get the picture of Mycroft turning on his heel and leaving out of his head. That split second before his bland mask had slipped into place the older Holmes had looked almost… hurt. The whole thought was quite foreign - the government official vulnerable. It was the middle of the night and he should be sleeping. He could apologize to Mycroft when he saw him the next time. Yes, he’d been an idiot but everyone made mistakes from time to time and Mycroft surely would forgive him. They were friends after all. Then why couldn’t he sleep, dammit? After tossing around for the better part of an hour, Greg finally gave in and went for his phone. He couldn’t call Mycroft in the middle of the night - even the British Government had to sleep sometimes - but he could send a text at least.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot.  
Blame it on the nerves.  
GL”

When he lay back down, Greg felt better. When Mycroft saw the timestamp on the text he would come to the conclusion that he obviously meant it and things would turn out alright. He was already drifting off to sleep when he suddenly realized why this had bothered him so much. “Damn - I’ve fallen for Mycroft-Bloody-Holmes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally ONE of them recognizes. Lets see how long it will take Mycroft to catch up.


	9. The conference - or How to study a Holmes in his natural environment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's life is threatened. Guess who's there to babysit?

“There have been several threats, Sir.”

“Tell them to take a number.” Mycroft was not in the mood for this discussion. His PA wouldn’t be discouraged though.

“Sir, I know this is an inconvenience, but frankly this country can’t afford having you shot. You haven’t trained enough replacements yet.”

“The current security is more than adequate.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Mycroft looked up from his paperwork and raised an eyebrow. His PA was not only a very attractive woman but also competent and loyal. She almost never directly contradicted him.

“You need an additional bodyguard at least for the duration of the conference, Sir. There are three threats with a direct link to it and MI6 judges two of them to be serious.”

Mycroft remembered the last time he had been forced to endure a bodyguard for a longer amount of time and shuddered. “If this is absolutely necessary, can we at least try to find someone who won’t be ready to kill me themselves after two hours?”

“That might prove difficult, Sir, but I’ll do my best.” ‘Anthea’ gave him her sweetest smile and began typing away on her phone.

 

Mycroft did his best to hide in his office and his club until the conference began. No matter what his PA thought, he wasn’t in the habit of taking unnecessary risks. On the day the delegates arrived, he left his flat early not wanting his new security detail to get the impression that he was tardy. 

“Morning, Mycroft.”

To say he was surprised would have been an understatement. “Gregory?”

“Apparently Anthea thought it was a good idea to get the Yard’s help on this one rather than using your own people. To quote my boss ‘Lestrade, you’re able to deal with one Holmes, I’m sure you’ll have fun with the other.’”

“I hope this isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.”

“Na,” Lestrade grinned. “It will be fun to prevent a stiff for a change.”

Despite his rather lax language, Mycroft saw immediately that the policeman knew what he was doing. Gregory was very aware of their surroundings all of the time and managed to put himself between Mycroft and the most probable direction of danger without fail.

For the next seven days Lestrade was almost constantly at his side. Technically he shared this duty with two other officers but one was only on duty at night. While the other attendants of the conference slept, Mycroft at least stayed in his rooms and there was no reason to deal with the annoying man on night shift. After two days Greg and his colleague Sylvester had worked out shifts between them in a way that only Lestrade had to actually deal with Mycroft Holmes. Sylvester on the other hand did a lot of standing in front of doors for hours at an end while Mycroft and an international group of high-ranking politicians sat in a secure room for insufferably long periods of time. Both men were happy with the arrangement and convinced they got the better end of the deal.

Greg focused most of his attention on making sure Mycroft would be safe. It was his job after all, and even if it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t let anything happen to the elder Holmes on his watch. And he had a pretty unique opportunity to actually study Mycroft Holmes in his natural environment.

 

“What did you think of the Moldavian delegate today, Gregory?” Mycroft put down the glass of water next to his plate of untouched food and looked at Lestrade.

“You are asking me for an opinion?”

“It seems like I am. Is that this surprising?” The government official seemed bemused by his reaction.

“Well considering my experience with Sherlock, I’d say it’s surprising that someone named Holmes actually realizes other people even have opinions, let alone listens to them. Besides I’m just here to stand around and throw myself into the path of a bullet if it becomes necessary and look decorative in the meantime.”

“I’m hardly my brother.”

“No, you’re not.” Greg agreed. “I wish I could show the other guys Sherlock just for a few minutes, so they’d see what real annoyance is.” He added with a grin.

“And you are not a mere pretty ornament. People at these functions tend to overlook security. It blends in with the background. But we both know that you are actually a quite intelligent man and that you are used to deal with people, especially people lying to you, on a daily basis. So I’m asking your opinion on the Moldavian delegate.”

“He’s an idiot,” Lestrade blurted out. “Mainly because he thinks he’s the cleverest man in the room and underestimates everyone else. He completely bought your ‘meek little English man’ performance.”

Mycroft nodded in agreement.

“I don’t think he’s the head of their delegation no matter what the official labels say or he himself believes. If I had to take a bet, I’d say any real decision is made by his right-hand woman. It’s like watching Anthea just with an idiot boss.”

A smile rose on Mycroft’s face. “Thank you Gregory, that was my impression as well. Some of my colleagues have ignored her so far because she’s ‘just a secretary’. I hope I’ll be able to convince them of her importance.”

“What by telling them ‘it’s so obvious even my bodyguard called it’?” Greg asked with a grin.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Shall I play the dumb brute a bit to add to the humiliation?”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, I think you are having far too much fun with that idea.”

 

“Who do you think is the most dangerous of the people we met today?”

“The blonde member of the Italian delegation.”

Mycroft was actually surprised by that assessment. But he wouldn’t simply ignore an opinion he asked for. “Why?”

“She’s an idealist. An absolutely fanatical one. Her mask is good, almost as good as yours, and I have no idea if she knows how to throw a punch or shoot a gun, but I’ve seen the glitter in her eye when you talked about the rocket base with her boss. She was sure no one was looking her way or she wouldn’t have shown it I’m sure. But like you said - security is basically invisible.”

Holmes mulled his words over for a moment before nodding. “Thank you, Gregory. I would have overlooked that potential problem without you.”

 

“Mycroft?”

The elder Holmes looked up from his laptop, his eyes red from staring at the monitor for far too long.

“You should get some dinner and go to bed.”

Mycroft furrowed his brow. “You are not my babysitter, Gregory.”

“At the moment that’s pretty much my job description. Your health is my responsibility, and you need to eat and sleep to keep healthy.” Lestrade shrugged.

“Shouldn’t you be at home? If I remember the times correctly, Paul’s shift started an hour ago.”

“Paul’s outside.”

“So off you go then. Your bed awaits you, Inspector.”

“Well since I’m officially off the clock…” Greg sat down on the couch next to Mycroft and put his feet on the coffee table. He reached over and closed the laptop.

“What exactly do you think you are doing there, Gregory?”

“Being a good mate.”

And once again the DI had managed to startle the British Government. The elder Holmes blinked several times, just staring at Lestrade.

“Mate?” He finally managed to say.

“Look you’re the most intelligent man I know, Mycroft - and I do work with Sherlock on a regular basis. So I’m sure you have noticed that we get along well, we meet quite regularly and we are on a first name basis. That’s what normal people consider ‘mates’. I might add that we know far more things about each other than most casual mates and that we respect and value each other’s opinions. I for my part would consider us friends.” Greg knew that he might have gone too far. He prayed that Mycroft wouldn’t be driven away by this sudden declaration. He wanted them to be far more than friends but he knew that even ‘friends’ was a concept that was quite alien to Mycroft Holmes’ everyday existence.

Unbeknownst to Lestrade, Mycroft remembered a conversation he had with his brother not all that long ago.

“I’m not lonely, Sherlock”

But Inspector Lestrade wasn’t a goldfish was he? Goldfish didn’t manage to surprise him on a semi-regular basis. Mycroft Holmes didn’t value the opinion of goldfish.

“Your analysis of our relation is astonishingly sound, Gregory.”

Greg laughed light-heartedly, relieved that Mycroft hadn’t shut him out. “Now that’s clearly just the lack of sleep talking - this amount of sentiment. Now off to bed with you and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good Night.”

Greg got up to leave for his own home, happy to have won over the Holmesian stubbornness. “Night mate.”

 

Of course it happened on the last day of the scheduled talks. And of course it was the Italian blonde. If Greg hadn’t waited for something like this to happen, he would have been too slow. But he actually was fast enough if barely so. When Miss Bianco pulled out her gun she was too far away to be reached, but Greg managed to tackle the elder Holmes to the ground just as she shot. He remembered hitting the ground. He remembered the expression of surprise and shock on Mycroft’s face. And he would remember those until the moment he died.

Then the pain hit him.


	10. Waking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock stole himself into the fic again.

When Greg regained consciousness he was at a hospital. The bed, the smells and the vomit-inducing wallpaper were all dead giveaways even to someone without a Holmesian intellect.

“You were shot.” A very familiar voice stated.

Greg felt a stab of disappointment that it belonged to the wrong Holmes.

When he tried to say something, all he managed was a cough. A glass of water appeared at his lips and he took some sips.

“You could have died.”

“No shit, Sherlock. That’s what happens to people who get shot.”

The consulting detective studied him, trying to determine his mood.

“What happened after I went down?”

“The shooter was taken out. A bullet to the head before she could take a third shot at my brother.”

“A third?” Greg felt the panic rising in his chest.

“Mycroft is fine. You took both bullets intended for him.”

Lestrade breathed out in relief. “Thank god for that.”

Sherlock huffed. “I had some words with that pompous idiot. The next time someone sends threats his way, he will use his own people as security instead of stealing one of mine.”

Greg blinked. “Now listen, Sherlock I know this is a terribly foreign concept, but people don’t actually belong to you. And Mycroft didn’t steal me. Anthea asked the Yard for administrative assistance and when I learned for what I volunteered.”

“Of course you did.” Sherlock shook his head. “I wish I understood why, but of course you did.”

“What are you typing away on your phone for there, Sherlock?”

“Informing my brother that you are awake. He wanted to be notified immediately.”

The thought of the elder Holmes caused a wave of warmth and affection in Greg.

“I’ll have to inform the nurses.” Sherlock realized. Before he headed out to fetch them he turned around once more. “Thank you, Lestrade, for saving Mycroft.”


	11. Scenes at the hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long hospital stays are terrible - nothing gets as boring as hospitals

Staying in the hospital was, more than anything, boring. While his injuries hadn’t been trivial, it could have been far worse and he was healing nicely. They were giving him the good drugs, so as long as Greg didn’t do something too strenuous he wasn’t even in much pain. He actually welcomed the colleagues who came over to take his statement and was disappointed when they finished the interview quickly. His only two sources of amusement were one of the nurses obviously flirting with him and the visits of Mycroft Holmes.

“The night nurse has already given you your daily injection?”

“Yeah, we won’t be disturbed. It’s all settled down for the night.” It wasn’t even nine pm yet, but hospitals kept inhuman schedules.

The British Government took a seat next to Lestrade’s bed. “So how was your day, Gregory?”

“Well it started far too early, had long phases of doing absolutely nothing just disturbed by the absolute riveting highlight of mashed potatoes and a bit of pork for lunch. I was surprised I could deal with the excitement but it was all a bit much so I had to take a nap. - Please tell me you have some interesting gossip or some outlandish Sherlock story or I might have to resort to watching crappy telly.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I brought you some of those paperbacks you asked for.” He sat the bag down on Lestrade’s nightstand. “Although I have to confess I don’t see how they are much better than TV.”

“At least it’s crappy books.”

Mycroft held out one of the books featuring a very stylised man wearing a kilt and little else. “‘A wee bit lower, lassie’?”

“It’s hilarious.” Greg insisted.

“I’ll take your word for it, Gregory.”

Lestrade couldn’t leave it at that. “You sound doubtful - here this is my favourite from the last one: ’Robert was new at this prison thing, and he felt frightened and confused. But the moment he laid eyes on #472825994, he became a prisoner of love.’”

Mycroft blinked in disbelief. “May I?” He took the book from Lestrade and stared at the page as if his eyes could change the words written there simply by looking long enough.

Greg couldn’t help but laugh at the obvious confusion.

“Now I wish I had my brother’s capacity to simply ‘delete’ things.”

Lestrade chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste I guess - I read the best bits out loud to the nurses when they come in. I can always tell by their reaction if we’ll get along or not.”

“Please refrain from doing so with me. You might have saved my life but I’m not sure that’s worth my sanity.”

“Fair enough. But don’t tell me these are worse than Lord B.” Mycroft always kept the people in his anecdotes anonymous, so Greg only knew them as simple letters.

“Actually I think the authors of these might make more sense on average.” The older Holmes sighed and settled into his chair a bit more comfortable before lounging in another tale about the stupidity he had witnessed since they had last met.

Lestrade sank into his pillows and listened to the acerbic tone and dry snark that was so absolutely Holmesian.

When the British Government left two hours later, Lestrade was fast asleep in his hospital bed.

 

“You’re feeling restless.” Mycroft observed.

“I never liked hospitals.”

“You’ve been here for a while. But today seems to be different for some reason.”

Greg sighed. Sometimes the Holmesian perceptiveness could be a real pain. “I got a call today - from Janice.”

The elder Holmes frowned. “Did she want anything specific?”

“Just wanted to hear how I was, apparently she heard that I was shot. It’s what people do I guess. I don’t know if I should be grateful that she still cares or pissed off that it took her over a week. And all the while Adam was going on about something in the background.”

“The PE teacher?” Mycroft could only assume.

“Yeah, she’s still with that wanker.” Greg sank into his pillows and stared at the ceiling. “God I hate having to deal with the ex.”

“I was under the impression you were over her. It has been a few years after all.”

Greg gave a slight chuckle. “Don’t take me wrong, I wouldn’t want her back if she came crawling. But it still hurts you know.” He made a short pause and took a look at the man sitting besides his hospital bed. “Do you?” There was a real curiosity in his voice now. “I mean I know you don’t do the sentiment stuff.”

A sad smile showed on Mycroft’s face. “I do actually, yes.”

Lestrade’s eyes widened at that confession.

“Don’t look that surprised, Inspector. Even I was young and foolish once.”

“It’s hard enough imagining you outside of that suit, let alone foolish.”

The British Government’s eyebrows rose. “Do you often try to imagine me outside of my suit then?” Seeing the mortified panic rise in the policeman’s face, he quickly added. “I know what you mean of course and I can assure you that even in my tender teenage years I never was the type for casual jeans and t-shirt.”

Greg chuckled at the ‘tender teenager’ and hid his very real embarrassment behind his amusement. He had never seen Mycroft be this open though and he might never get another chance to learn something this personal about the man. He couldn’t help himself. He had to ask.

“What was his name?”

“Oliver.” The warmth and bittersweet sadness in his voice would have destroyed his image as ‘The Iceman’ immediately if anyone had heard it. It was a good thing Greg had never bought into that image in the first place. “It was a youthful folly during my university years. It could never have worked out.”

“Well fuck him.”

Mycroft looked at him mildly surprised, an eyebrow raised in question. The explicit language was nothing he’d expect under the circumstances.

“Fuck him and fuck Martin and fuck Janice and fuck everyone who ever broke another human being’s heart.” 

“Martin?”

“My first boyfriend back in the day. Caught him sleeping around behind my back. He just shrugged it off as if it didn’t matter. - I guess I have a knack for picking the unfaithful ones.”

Mycroft was at a loss for what to say. When the silence started to become uncomfortable, Greg stated. “Well fuck that - this place makes me all maudlin. I need something to lighten my mood.”

“I’m afraid a pint is out of the question considering your medication.”

“I know, I’m not that daft.” He grinned evilly. “Mycroft Holmes, I hereby send you on the quest to bring me some comfort food.”

The British Government blinked. “Anything specific?”

“Crisps, chocolate, some biscuits - be creative, man.”

“Very well.” Mycroft gave a short and very precise bow in Gregory’s direction before he left the room to hunt down some shallow calories.

 

“I see your recuperation is going well.”

Greg turned from the sink towards Mycroft Holmes who had just entered his hospital room. “I’m allowed to leave the bed and walk around. Honestly I don’t know why they haven’t thrown me out yet. It’s not as if they’re doing much besides checking my temperature and blood pressure anymore.”

“You want to get out?” Mycroft asked.

“God, yes.”

The government official turned around and left again without another word. He was back less than half an hour later with a couple of papers.

“I talked to your doctor. If you keep your check-up appointments there is no medical reason why you need to stay. They just needed to fill out some forms. You need to sign here.” He pointed out a line on the document. “Then you are free to go.”

Greg couldn’t believe it. He had tried to get a clear cut statement out of the medical personnel for days now. He slowly started to grin. “Well, I better start packing then and call myself a cab.”

“A cab will hardly be necessary, Gregory. My driver is waiting for me outside and we can drop you off at home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote Greg gives is a REAL quote - I didn't come up with it, I just googled. Same goes foor the title of the book Mycroft brings him.


	12. The Pub - Interlude with John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes a bloke just needs to talk to his mates.

Greg was enjoying his newfound freedom with a pint at the pub. Instead of meeting with some colleagues tonight John was his only company.

“It’s good to have you back on your feet, Greg.”

“Thanks, mate. It’s good to be back. Right now even desk duty seems exciting.”

Watson laughed. “I bet by the end of the week you’ll be ready to burn any paperwork coming your way.”

“Probably.” Lestrade agreed and took a long drag from his bottle.

John drank as well, then cheered loudly as he saw his team making a goal on the telly at the bar. Greg and about three quarters of the pub joined in. No one liked ManU very much so any score against them met with public approval.

“You know I’m glad both your girlfriends gave you the evening off. It’s been ages since we had a boys’ night out.”

“Two? - Sherlock is NOT…” John stopped as he saw Greg’s grin, realizing that he was just being wound up. 

“How is Mary doing?” Greg leaned back, the amused expression still on his face.

“Fine. She’s out with Janine tonight. They spent the whole day looking at wedding dresses and now they wanted me out from under their feet so they can watch some telly and drink wine without me getting in the way.”

“Congrats on finally getting through with your proposal. Sherlock interrupted you how many times?”

“Three.” John’s chuckled warmly as he thought about his best friend and the chaos that was their life. “I wonder how many attempts I will need to get him to understand that I want him to be the best man.”

Lestrade shook his head. “Please record his reaction. I know several people who would pay good money to see that - including me.”

“What about you, Greg? I know you’ve been dating for a while but you haven’t mentioned anyone in some time - even before you were shot, I mean.” 

Watson was extremely happy at the moment and like any good mate he wanted his friends to be happy as well. He knew Greg wasn’t all that content on his own, that he wanted someone in his life. In fact he seemed a tad sad when he answered.

“I decided to take a break from dating for a while. No one I met worked out really.”

“Oh come on, Greg, don’t give up. I’m sure you’ll find someone if you keep trying. I mean hiding surely won’t help.”

“I’m not hiding, it’s… complicated.”

Now John’s curiosity was piqued. He looked at Greg expectantly while leaning back and taking a sip from his beer. He might lack the deductive skills of one Sherlock Holmes but he did know how to get his friend to talk.

“I… I fell for someone. I’m still trying to figure out if he’s interested but as long as he spooks around in my mind I’m afraid I’m a lost cause when it comes to anyone else.”

John nodded. “Have you thought about asking the guy? You can dance around the topic for ages but you will never know for sure if you don’t ask him out.”

Seeing the doubtful expression on the DI’s face Watson continued. “Look I know how long it took me to gather the courage to ask Mary out but all the nerves and everything were worth it in the end. I mean what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Considering we are talking about Mycroft Holmes the answer to that is probably along the lines of ‘my body will never be found’.”

John sputtered his beer over half the table. “Mycroft? Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft?!”

“Will you keep it quiet? Damn John I thought you could be discreet.”

“But Mycroft?” He simply couldn’t wrap his head around the idea.

“Is that so unbelievable? He’s beyond clever, has a great sense of humour and is extremely caring.”

John blinked once. John blinked twice. John blinked three times before answering. “He’s an arrogant son of a bitch who’s humour consists of acerbic snark. He thinks everyone around him - including Sherlock - is a moron. And he isn’t called “the Iceman” behind his back without a reason.” He felt as if Greg had completely lost it.

Lestrade smiled knowingly. “I like snark. And so do you or you couldn’t have handled living with Sherlock for so long. He doesn’t think people are morons; he knows most of them are for a fact. And if he truly didn’t care then neither you or I would have ever even talked with him, let alone team up in attempt to keep Sherlock safe,”

“He cares about Sherlock, I grant you that. But anything else…” Doubt was still imminent in his voice.

“Mycroft visited me in the hospital more often than anyone else. He could have just sent flowers and a card. No one would have expected more of someone in his position. He wasn’t there when I woke up because his work kept him but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. I’m a copper, I know that work can be more important. You’re a doctor, you should understand that too.”

“Mycroft is a politician, or something very close.”

“Hell knows what his official job description is, but I’m pretty sure Mycroft Holmes has saved more lives in his line of work than either you or me, mate.”

Watson’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in for it badly.”

Greg took another swig from his beer. “Like I said. I’m not much use for anyone else.”

John sighed in sympathy. “Well good luck, mate, either way.”


	13. Sherlock's birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's first birthday after he returned home has to be celebrated - Mrs. Hudson said so. And who would have the heart to say 'No' to Mrs. Hudson?

“Look Mycroft, I know it’s not your kind of thing, but it was Mrs. Hudson’s idea and Sherlock hasn’t been back all that long and frankly I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“I can’t say I’m all that surprised, John. Has anyone informed my brother of this little get-together?”

“Actually Mrs. Hudson did. And she wouldn’t listen to any of his protests. So don’t think you’ll be able to skip this.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.” Mycroft replied drily. Dr. Watson’s enthusiasm in the matter was actually kind of endearing. “This Saturday it was?”

“Six o’clock,” John reminded him.

The elder Holmes sighed. “I’ll be there.” He ended the call. A birthday party for his little brother - what a quaint idea. He wondered who had thought it would be a good idea to invite him of all people.

 

Mycroft thanked the theoretical, omnipotent construct he didn’t believe in that this was a relatively private social function. When he arrived half an hour late (the Canadian ambassador had proved himself almost impossible to get rid of) he was greeted only by a very small number of people. Mrs. Hudson was currently threatening his brother with homemade biscuits, while Mary and Molly Hooper were chatting on the couch. John turned around from talking with Gregory to greet him. “Mycroft, we thought you’d be a no-show.”

The reaction of the people in the room was very telling of their personalities and relationships with Mycroft. Despite the fact that they had worked together to enable his brother’s charade, Ms. Hooper still was intimidated by him and only managed a nervous smile - the attempt to appease a potentially dangerous man. Mary’s smile was open and carefree. Mary Morstan didn’t really know Mycroft and everything John had told her about him obviously lead to a more amusing impression of him than anything. Sherlock naturally scowled at his presence but Mycroft guessed that was at least half owed to the fact that Mrs. Hudson was turning her attention towards him, fussing about his coat and offering him some of the chocolate biscuits which up until now had been solely Sherlock’s privilege. John was a bit surprised that he actually had come and a bit proud of himself that he’d obviously managed to score another point versus the Holmesian stubbornness. Greg grinned at him, the one person genuinely happy to see him just because.

“Apologies. Work took longer than anticipated,” he offered as ways of explanation with a small polite smile.

“Really, Mycroft, on a Saturday.” Mrs. Hudson was shocked by what she conceived a lack of civility.

“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Hudson. Some things can’t be helped.”

“Did you have to arrange for a war for the weekend, Mycroft?” Sherlock sounded almost bored.

“Actually, I thought I’d end one before it starts for a change, as a present so to speak. Happy birthday, brother-mine.” He took one of the offered biscuits from the plate and nodded a “thank you” in Mrs. Hudson’s direction.

“Boooring.” Sherlock declared and snatched a biscuit from the plate.

 

Mycroft didn’t mingle. At least he didn’t mingle unless it was required of him by his job. But none of the people here cared. Mrs. Hudson treated everyone currently at Baker Street as if they were her beloved children. And she knew and accepted their idiosyncrasies completely. John and Mary were content letting him be, the good doctor used to him by now and Mary trusting his lead, Sherlock just shot enough comments his way to keep up appearances and he reciprocated in kind but that was just them. Mycroft opted to ignore Molly Hooper. Nothing he could to would put her at ease and so acting as if she wasn’t there seemed to be the kindest thing. He spent most of his time chatting with Gregory, exchanging anecdotes. The inspector never seemed to feel uncomfortable around him no matter what. It was a surprisingly pleasant evening all in all. Maybe it was really worth the time he had to invest even if it meant he had to help Mrs. Hudson doing the dishes after the - excellent - dinner.

 

Greg had quite nervously waited to see if Mycroft would show up. When he didn’t appear on time he had felt a pang of disappointment. Mycroft was never tardy if he could help it. So the most likely scenario was that the older Holmes had decided he wasn’t really wanted on his brother’s birthday and now was skipping out on them. When Mycroft did arrive half an hour late, Greg’s mood improved immediately. When they talked other people around them didn’t really matter all that much it seemed. Mycroft answered Sherlock’s jabs more or less on autopilot and didn’t even realize (or rather care) that John and Mary spent an astoundingly large amount of time listening to the two of them talking. When he was relaxed like this Mycroft was a pretty entertaining conversationalist. 

Dinner was the turning point when it came to the general mood though. With all of them sitting crammed at the table Molly’s nervousness detracted from everyone’s light-heartedness. Mycroft especially looked uncomfortable as he knew fully well that he was the main reason behind it. Sherlock’s comments became more aggressive, probably because people were more interested in the good food than in his brilliance and like almost always he pointed his snark in his brother’s direction. Maybe it was just him but when Mycroft volunteered to dry the dishes for Mrs. Hudson it seemed to Greg almost like a flight.

“How about a fag, Sherlock?”

This earned Greg a surprised eyebrow.

“It is your birthday, why not indulge yourself?”

“Sure, why not?” Sherlock agreed almost too easily.

When they were out on the street, the young consulting detective did light himself a cigarette before turning towards Greg. “So what’s this about then, Lestrade?”

Of course he hadn’t been able to pull wool over Sherlock’s eyes. “Why do you always have to be such a tit, Sherlock?”

The young consulting detective smiled bemusedly. “I thought we had established some time ago that I am an - and I quote - absolute twat. I thought you had learned to live with that by now.”

“Oh I know you are, but don’t you think that went a bit far in there?”

Sherlock tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in quiet curiosity. “May I ask Inspector, which of the things I said tonight you took exception to?”

“You mocking your brother’s weight when he was already hesitating if he should take some dessert? I know you’re a git but I never thought you were that cruel.” Greg was really pissed at the young genius.

“I always mock my brother’s eating habits.” Sherlock shrugged.

“You think that somehow makes it better?”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, tell me one thing - did my brother take some trifle or not?”

“He did but that’s beside the point.”

“Is it though? You said yourself he was hesitating before I said something, then he took some.”

“Oh.” Greg suddenly felt very out of his depth. Something that shouldn’t really surprise him when dealing with a Holmes. “You egged him on.”

“I dared him. It doesn’t always work but it’s the best strategy I’ve found for dealing with Mycroft’s… habits. When did you notice?” He took another deep drag from his cigarette.

“I spent about a week monitoring your brother’s every step, looking after his safety. I recognized certain patterns. He seems to have it under control quite well but coppers are a notoriously paranoid bunch.”

Sherlock finished his smoke and threw the dog end down, killing the ember under his heel. “Well it seems as if Mycroft has found himself a moderately observant goldfish.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was a compliment by the way. Come on, Lestrade. No one will believe your little excuse of having a smoke if we stay out here for hours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Greg are referring to Mycroft's eating disorder as described in [URL=http://archiveofourown.org/works/5747683]How's the diet?[/URL]


	14. Professional trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft needs someone compentent and trustworthy. There really is just one option.

When Greg was called to the Super’s office he asked himself what he’d done wrong. Not that he had any reason to assume that he had made any glaring mistakes but like any normal bloke he got nervous when he was called up to meet the boss.

To say he was surprised to see a familiar man in a three-piece suit sitting in the office would have been an understatement.

“Ah Lestrade, come in.”

“Sir. Mr. Holmes.” He nodded in Mycroft’s direction and took the seat his boss indicated.

“Good morning, Inspector.” The government official’s mask was perfectly professional.

Greg was glad he had decided for the formal approach. His friendship with Mycroft Holmes was none of his boss’s business.

“I’m sure you know of Mr. Holmes’ position in the government.”

Lestrade nodded. “At least in part.” Anyone besides Mycroft himself who thought he actually knew the full extent of the elder Holmes’ entanglement in the running of the country was fooling themselves.

The government official gave a small smile, perfectly aware of what was going on in the inspector’s head.

“Well that’ll have to do, Lestrade.” Greg’s boss sounded impatient. “Mr. Holmes needs the Yard’s help in a delicate situation and he’s asked for your cooperation specifically. I guess saving him from those bullets has impressed him.”

“I can assure you that I’ve asked for DI Lestrade for one reason only, Mr. Britts,” Mycroft interrupted gently, not so subtly refusing to use the Chief Superintendent’s rank. “He is by far the most qualified man on the force to deal with this specific problem. His ability to spot a potential assassin and his willingness to put his life on the line are only part of that qualification.”

“Of course.”

The next half hour was spent explaining the specifics of the problem to Greg who saw more and more why he of all people was brought in on this. A dead operative who belonged to a small group that was even kept secret from most of MI6. Mycroft had a far better chance to keep this under lock and key when it was handled by the normal police, like any ordinary murder. The investigating officer of course had to know and who could Mycroft trust more than him to keep his secrets? The Super had to know at least some of it and that was a risk, but Britts was a coward and careerist. He wouldn’t risk going against Mycroft Holmes.

It didn’t hurt of course that he had one of the best clear-up rates in NSY even if one didn’t count the cases that Sherlock helped with. Oh and then there was his willingness to work with the younger Holmes if necessary of course.

 

When they both left Britts’ office Lestrade had to ask.

“I guess you want Sherlock kept out of this?”

“If at all possible. My brother has a tendency to cause more trouble than I want to deal with on this.”

Greg nodded. “So I was the best for this job, Mycroft? No slight exaggeration to help my career there?”

“I can assure you that I don’t do that kind of favouritism. If I did, neither Chief Superintendent Britts nor Sergeant Donovan would be working in London anymore.”

Lestrade laughed. “If you started to browbeat everyone who didn’t like Sherlock, London would be pretty empty by the end of the month.”

Mycroft chuckled lightly. “I’m afraid your assessment of the situation is frighteningly accurate. Please inform me immediately when you find something or if you feel you have to include my brother. Don’t call my office or Anthea - call me directly.”

Greg was surprised that even ‘Anthea’ was to be kept in the dark but nodded his agreement. “Will do.”

 

It took him and his team three weeks and a bit of luck but they finally managed to piece together what had happened to Mycroft’s agent. And they did it without Sherlock’s help. When Greg called the government official to tell him who was responsible for the death of his man, he got a very short:

“Thank you, I’ll be taking care of this from here.”

They never arrested the guilty party but the culprit was never seen again either. Lestrade wasn’t sure how he felt about this.

 

The morning after the phone call he found a card on his desk, written in the elegant penmanship of Mycroft Holmes.

“Thank you for your invaluable help in this, Gregory. Allan was a valued asset and a good man and I’ll rest easier knowing his murderer has been dealt with.”

Well, whatever ‘dealt with’ meant in this context. Greg knew that if anything should ever happen to him the people responsible would regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Allan" is nod to Alan Moore's League of Extraordinary Gentleman, where Mycroft Holmes is the boss behind a group of special agents lead by Allan Quarterman and Mina Barker.


	15. Invitation +1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mary are getting married. They invite their friends. And if you can't bring a date to a wedding I don't know WHERE you could take them

Greg took a good long look at the official invitation. “Greg Lestrade + 1”

Damn John, he knew there was only one ‘plus One’ he would be interested in. And Mycroft had gotten his own damn invitation as he knew for a fact. So there really was no need for his current nerves. Only the ‘+1’ kept screaming at him from the card. What was a single middle-aged copper with a massive case of pining to do?

The worst part was that Mycroft was his friend.

Asking him out would change their relationship no matter what answer he got. And he dreaded the thought of losing Mycroft as a friend. He doubted Sherlock’s brother would refuse to ever speak to him again or doing something equally drastic. But Mycroft Holmes didn’t have many friends, maybe none besides him that weren’t work-related - no one he could truly relax around except Greg. The thought of taking that comfort from Mycroft was terrible. Yes, he had a lot to lose if Mycroft wasn’t interested in him that way, but in the long run he would be OK. He had been OK after Janice had left with the PE teacher, he would survive another rejection. Mycroft on the other hand had almost everything to lose. Without Greg his only connection to humanity would be through his little brother - a thin thread indeed.

He had looked after Sherlock, going so far as to taking a prolonged vacation in Baskerville of all places. He had saved Mycroft Holmes from the dreadful West End experience. He had encouraged the man to mend his relation with his brother. He had literally taken bullets for the British Government and had found Mycroft an assassin quickly and discreetly. 

Mycroft had saved his life from Moriarty’s killers, had helped him on cases, stood up for him to a bloody member of the House of Lords and most importantly had listened and valued his opinion on every occasion. He had visited Greg in the hospital and had probably saved his sanity by doing that.

If Mycroft Holmes found the courage to open up to him and tell him about Oliver - a name probably no one in London besides Sherlock knew about - then he should find the damn courage to ask the man he fell in love with on a date.

 

Making a decision and acting on it were two very different things though. Greg spent over a week deciding on the best course of action. Simply phoning Mycroft and asking him was out of the question but it wasn’t as if they met in person on a daily basis. He contemplated bringing it up in the next meeting they would have over Sherlock. But with Mycroft and Sherlock’s relationship being on an all-time high those weren’t as regular as they used to be. Besides this particular conversation should be about them, not Mycroft’s genius brat of a brother.

When he hadn’t managed to come up with some elaborate foolproof plan after ten days, Lestrade decided to just jump into the deep end. No amount of fussing would make asking the actual question any easier. He phoned ‘Anthea’ to find out when her boss would be in his office and have a bit of time on hand in his schedule. Thank god for competent PAs. He wasn’t sure he could have managed asking Mycroft himself without giving himself away prematurely.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft greeted him with a warm smile.

Greg felt heat creeping up his neck. At first he had felt the usage of the long form of his name was weird. But it was such a completely Mycroft thing to do, and since no one else used this name, it had somehow become an intimate thing between them. He had grown to love hearing ‘Gregory’.

“Hello Mycroft.”

“Please take a seat. I can have Anthea bring us a kettle if you like.”

“Thanks - ehm, I’m not sure I’ll be staying that long though.”

The government official was startled. This was the first time in years that Greg Lestrade gave any indication of not being at ease in his company. He frowned slightly. Apparently the inspector’s reason for coming here today was an unpleasant one. Mycroft inwardly prepared for the worst.

“What’s the matter, Gregory?” The British Government asked in a slightly concerned tone.

“Nothing. I mean nothing bad - I hope.” Greg swallowed. “Look at me stuttering around like a nervous teenager. I knew that this would be embarrassing but I didn’t expect it to become this bad this fast.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. His worry slowly dissipating - embarrassing didn’t sound too bad.

“Are you sure you don’t want tea? It might calm your nerves.”

Lestrade took a deep breath. “No thanks, I don’t think that will be necessary.” He finally sat down. “Look I don’t think it will help if I beat around the bush for ages, so… I like you Mycroft. I like you a lot. And I don’t just mean that in the purely platonic sense. I’ve felt attracted to you for some time now. It’s weird you know, I always figured you’d deduce that after one look, probably figure it out before I myself did. Maybe you did and just kept you mouth shut, who knows. But well a guy can only wait so long for another bloke to maybe make the first move. So… would you like to come with me to John’s wedding - as my date?”

Mycroft’s face had changed from friendly concern and curiosity over a short, tiny fragment of a moment of shock into a carefully blank expression.

“No.”

Greg waited if there was anything else coming but when Mycroft obviously didn’t care to elaborate, he got up from his chair. “Well then, I got my answer I guess.” He swallowed, his throat feeling terribly dry all of sudden. He felt a pang of panic. “I won’t keep you from your work any longer, goodbye Mycroft.”

“Goodbye, Inspector.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He said "No." - OMGOMGOMG
> 
> This is NOT the end - OBVIOUSLY


	16. Love hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how grownup, confident, and well-adjusted you are. Some things just hurt.

Damn. Damn! DAMN! Greg couldn’t believe that had just happened. Why did he have to make such a fool of himself? And not only in front of Mycroft, that one had been unavoidable apparently. But he practically ran from the room, startling the PA who was used to him staying for quite some time under normal circumstances. She had said something, Greg hadn’t really registered what but he guessed some kind of polite phrase. He had barely managed a “Goodbye, Anthea” to the woman.

Almost ten years. He had known her for almost a decade. Not that they were friends, more like associates who respected each other. And now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see her again. Or Mycroft.

A part of him knew that he wasn’t thinking clearly. He was still about the only police officer that voluntarily worked with Sherlock. He was friends with Sherlock and John. No matter what happened it would be pretty impossible not to run into Mycroft in the future. But unlike the bloody British Government, he couldn’t just take a step back in their relationship and be all “Inspector” and “Mr. Holmes” again.

He took the tube home, losing himself in the anonymity of public transport. He didn’t remember much about the ride, only the feeling of pain and longing when he registered one of the countless CCTV cameras at the station. A bloody camera - damn his stupid heart.

Once in his flat Greg went straight for the liquor cabinet. Usually he was completely happy having a pint or two down at the pub. He was a man of simple tastes when it came to most things. But the cabinet held a bottle of good whiskey that was still almost full. And tonight he felt like something stronger than just a beer.

He downed the first glass in one go, letting the burn in his throat mask the burn in his eyes. He poured himself a second glass and flopped on the couch. His phone pinged once, informing him of a text. An irrational hope in his heart, Greg pulled it out immediately. It was a text from one of his mates at work asking him to join them down at the pub. He threw his phone on the table lacking even the energy to answer.

Why did this hurt so bloody much?

He had been turned down for dates before. That was fine. Sometimes he’d felt a slight disappointment but that was only to be expected, nothing terrible. So why did this feel more like that time he had broken it off with Martin, or the moment when Janice moved out? He’d had several relations over the course of the years, some serious, some less so. And Mycroft Holmes’ rejection felt like some of the worst break-ups he’d had.

He took a huge swig of whiskey. Greg felt like a stupid lovelorn teenager again. He tried to tell himself to stop being silly but it didn’t work. It probably was too early to pull himself together. 

Who had he been kidding anyway? Mycroft was far too good for the likes of him. The man was one of the cleverest people alive on the planet, so what use would he have for a beatdown middle-aged copper? Even if Greg had the looks of Brad Pitt and the brains of Einstein he doubted that Mycroft would have been interested. The man lived to serve his country - no place for messy relationships.

A mess, that’s what he’d made of this. A mess, that’s what he was.

Greg kicked off his shoes and pulled his legs up on the couch. Huddling his knees to his chest, a glass of whiskey in his hand and tears finally beginning to fall he was the very picture of misery. He remembered his gran telling him “Everybody needs to have a good cry from time to time, nothing to be ashamed of” and “don’t matter if others think it’s silly - if it hurts, it hurts.” The old bird had been a wise and gentle soul. A part of Greg wished she would be here right now, or anyone really, to hold him and telling things would be alright.

But his gran had died when he was nineteen. And Greg was an aging copper with a failed marriage under his belt and no one he felt he could call. Men didn’t talk about feelings with their mates, English men even less so. So here he was all on his own, feeling miserable and lost, crying into his whiskey after he’d managed to piss off his best friend with his stupid ideas and he doubted a quick texted apology would make things alright this time.

 

The next few days were rough. Lestrade managed to keep up the facade at work but he avoided social situations. He wasn’t sure he would be able to keep up the appearance when all of his mates happily relaxed around him. Instead he spent his evenings at home, distracting himself with crappy telly, often falling asleep crying into his pillow.

Four days after “the day” Lestrade had to call in Sherlock on a case. He didn’t really want to, but when Sally Donovan looked at the crime scene and with a sigh declared “Well, I guess we’ll have to call the Freak” then he really had no excuse.

Sherlock was his usual arrogant self only more so. He took a look around the crime scene, doing his thing and declared after less than ten minutes. “Check his workplace, one of his colleagues will have a penchant for curling, whoever that is, is your man. Really Lestrade, you know I have more important things to do right now. Don’t call me for anything below a nine.”

“A nine? Sherlock no one but you even understands your ranking system, so how do you expect anyone to comply to your demands?” Greg was tired of the Holmeses and their way of treating the world around them.

The consulting detective looked at him curiously, obviously having noticed something in his voice. But today seemed to be a good day for Sherlock, for whatever he saw in Lestrade’s face, he didn’t comment. Greg was very grateful for that little fact. He really didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of his team.

 

After one week had passed, Greg slowly managed to drag himself out of the emotional low. He had managed to get over the divorce, he would survive this as well.

If Mycroft didn’t want to go to the wedding with him, then sod the British Government. John and Mary were his friends; he would go and he would have fun, dammit. Even if Sherlock’s best man speech promised to make the whole thing awkwardly unique. 

Greg wasn’t happy but he was getting better at faking it, and experience had taught him that with time he would even convince himself and the pretense would become reality.


	17. Love scares - Interlude with Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone around him is behaving irrational: John and Mary marry, Lestrade has less fun at an open bar than would be expected, and his brother is even more of a twat than usual. Sherlock has had enough of it.

Sentiment, feelings, romance. It all created much more fuss than it was worth. Sherlock was happy for John and Mary, he really was, but theirs seemed to be the lucky exception. Statistically speaking it wouldn’t last, something or other would come up sooner or later. But Sherlock had learned - in a slow and sometimes painful process - that some things were better left unspoken.

He left the reception as early as possible. That is, he calculated the necessary time that would be expected from a best man and made his way to the door accordingly. A quick glance around at Janine and a few other carefully selected “pointers” ensured that he hadn’t grossly miscalculated. No one obviously objected that he took his leave. 

John and Mary were a happily married couple now, a baby on the way. Sherlock would have to make some changes to his routine to accommodate for that but not too many. No matter what Mrs. Hudson thought the certificate didn’t really change all that much. Sherlock was happy for his best friend. He liked Mary. She was the first of John’s string of girlfriends since Sarah who was even remotely interesting. And she wasn’t just interested in getting into John’s pants. She wanted to share all of his life which meant being friends with Sherlock.

He knew that Mycroft and to a lesser degree Mrs. Hudson worried about him because of the wedding but that was completely unnecessary. Not that Mycroft would ever be discouraged from worrying about him, the stupid git.

Sherlock lit himself a cigarette. Stupid big brother. He couldn’t say he was surprised that Mycroft had decided to skip the reception and the wedding. He hated large crowds, he hated the public display of sentiment, and he hated the feeling that everyone knew exactly what he was doing - how little or much he drank, how little or much he ate. But Sherlock had still hoped for the minor miracle of Mycroft appearing anyway.

In a way it was typical. Sherlock had had a wonderful day, seeing his best friend happy, having the crowd hanging on his lips, and a murder mystery to keep him entertained - even without an actual murder to taint John’s big day. So of course Mycroft had to spoil it by making Sherlock worry.

He didn’t worry about his big brother all too often. Mycroft was old enough to look after himself after all. But that phone call today didn’t leave his mind. Mycroft had been working out - that didn’t necessarily mean that he was under a lot of stress but it was one of the warning signals. Looking back, he realized that he hadn’t seen much of his brother over the last couple of weeks. He hadn’t wasted much thought on it at the time, being preoccupied with writing the speech, and in and of itself it wasn’t really something to lose any sleep over. 

But the pompous idiot had mentioned Redbeard - probably to throw Sherlock off. And it had worked for that moment. Looking back now Sherlock remembered one thing though - he hadn’t been the only one who had cried when they had to put the beloved animal down.

Despite all his genius, the younger Holmes was never good at anticipating people’s behaviour beforehand - least of all his brother’s. It was the tragedy of their relation really; they cared about each other but they were both too good at hiding when they were hurting from the people they were close to.

Finally the cab he’d called arrived and he gave the cabbie the address of Mycroft’s hideout. The fact that Anthea had shared his brother’s current whereabouts so willingly was another hint that his worries weren’t unfounded.

 

An hour later the cab delivered him to his destination. Sherlock paid and gave a generous tip - he did believe in keeping the invisible and suppressed masses on his side. Still in his tuxedo he walked up to the door and opened it with one of the keys he’d nicked from his brother. Mycroft would have willingly given him the keys if he’d asked but Sherlock preferred to practise his pick-pocketing skills.

He found his brother upstairs, taking a long swig from a water bottle, still sweating from his last round of workouts. Obviously coming here had been the right decision.

“At half two - really?” Sherlock let himself drop into a conveniently placed armchair.

“The Chinese ministry of foreign affairs insist on doing conference calls in the morning - Beijing time of course. I think it’s mainly their petty revenge for Hong Kong.” Mycroft took a towel and dried himself off.

The younger Holmes didn’t say anything, just watched his brother with an uncharacteristic patience.

“Why are you here, Sherlock?”

“Redbeard.”

“The dog?” Usually Mycroft had no trouble following his brother’s train of thoughts, but while mentioning the long dead pet had been quite cruel on his side it was hardly a reason for his little brother to drop in on him in the middle of the night.

“I was unsure if I should come. You mentioning Redbeard tipped the scales slightly in favour.”

“Well, I’ll be sure not to mention him in the future then unless I want you to take a case for me.”

Sherlock frowned. Mycroft was deflecting from the problem. “I spent the better part of an hour riding in a cab with a cabbie who felt the need to CHAT, Mycroft.”

“That’s hardly my fault, brother-mine.”

“Actually it is. You’re behaving irrational. Something is clearly wrong.”

“Did the thought occur to you that dealing with Chinese politicians can be quite stressful?”

“It crossed my mind. But you thrive on every opportunity to practise your Mandarin and take secret pleasure from the fact they still haven’t figured out that you’re fluent in Cantonese as well.” Sherlock was impatient at the best of times. “What is wrong, Mycroft?” 

When his older brother clearly tried to stall, he added. “You can talk to me, or I could call up Mummy.”

“You wouldn’t.” Panic was clearly evident in his brother’s face.

“Try me.”

Mycroft sighed in defeat. “I’m afraid I’ve done something stupid.” When Sherlock didn’t immediately take a cheap shot at him, the elder brother stopped in surprise. They exchanged looks. Sherlock clearly wanted him to continue. “You might have been right, you know.”

That earned Mycroft a sharp intake of breath. Hearing these words coming from his brother’s mouth was a rare occasion indeed and Sherlock was suddenly worried a whole lot more than before.

“I didn’t realize it at that time but I might indeed feel lonely. I… this is awkward, talking to you about…”

“Feelings?”

“Indeed. You know I haven’t been with anyone since Oliver.”

Sherlock shrugged. He was aware of the fact but had never given it much attention.

“I was approached a few weeks back by someone asking me on a date. I panicked. I’m afraid I might have cost myself the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Who would ask YOU out on… a.... LESTRADE. Lestrade asked you on a date?!”

“That thought is quite far-fetched I admit - hence my panic.”

“It’s not that ridiculous if you think about it. After a failed marriage many people search for the safe, familiar route. He would hardly have to worry about you being swept away by someone else.”

“Thanks brother-mine. As always your words are a great comfort.” Mycroft’s sarcasm was dripping from his words.

“So you clearly said ‘no’ as you weren’t there. That explains Gladstone’s bad mood when he thought no one was looking at least.”

Sherlock saw something alien cross his brother’s face. He needed a moment to place the unfamiliar expression - regret.

“His name is Gregory. And the whole idea is ridiculous obviously.” Mycroft’s tone of dismissal couldn’t quite hide the sadness in his voice

“Is it, though?”

“Despite working with you for years, the inspector has no idea what he would be in for, courting me.”

Sherlock snorted at his brother’s choice of words. “Don’t underestimate Lestrate, brother-dear. I think he knows you better than you think. Did you know that he scolded me on my birthday?”

Mycroft scowled. “Why would Gregory do such a thing?”

“To protect you, of course. He took offense on my comments regarding your diet. He thought I was being an insensitive twat.”

“Gregory knows?” Mycroft went pale.

“See - he isn’t as stupid as you think. I think Lestrade knows you better than anyone outside of the family and maybe Anthea.” Sherlock’s voice became very gentle. “Maybe you should give yourself a chance, Mycie.”

His brother slumped. “It’s too late for that I’m afraid. I made it very clear to Gregory that I wasn’t interested.”

Sherlock huffed. “So you acted like an idiot, what’s new? If he fell for you in the first place, he has to be the forgiving type. Talk to him, Mycroft, grovel if you have to. Don’t let this slip you by because you’re a coward.”

The British Government took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “I will - thank you, Sherlock.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m only doing this because a boyfriend might keep you from sticking your big nose into my affairs all the time. Oh and I’m sleeping on your couch tonight.”


	18. Now what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea gives her opinion. Sherlock is asked his.

He was over Mycroft’s rejection. Or if not quite over it, then at least getting there. He wasn’t yet ready to jump into the dating pool again but eventually he would get there. Greg was cautiously optimistic. Up until then he would work his frustration out on the paperwork.

Lestrade was just about to save his progress on the document he was working on and leave for a lunch break when he spotted a familiar figure approaching his desk. Seeing Anthea sent a jolt of sadness through him. Greg hit the save button and waited for the woman to reach his desk.

Once she stood before him, Anthea pulled out a single long stemmed rose with petals of a red so dark it was almost indistinguishable from black. Attached to the rose was a card made from high quality paper. On the card written in black ink by Mycroft’s own hand were the words:

_I’m sorry for being an idiot.  
Blame it on the nerves._

A smile tugged at Greg’s lips as he remembered the text he had sent a couple of months back on the very day he had realized his own feelings for the government official.

“He says that he would be grateful if you found yourself able to forgive him.”

Lestrade looked at the Mycroft’s PA. “He’s not going to get off the hook this easily.” He stated.

“I don’t think he expects to be. This is meant as a re-opening of communications.” Anthea looked him straight in the eye, a thing she seldom did. “Search your heart, Inspector. Make sure that you know what you want before you call him. He is taking a huge leap with this.”

“I will,” he promised. “Thank you, Anthea.”

She gave him a courteous nod and left, leaving Greg to contemplate what he wanted to do now.

 

“Lestrade, what are you doing here? Any interesting bodies? A baffling murder mystery?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Sherlock. I’m here for personal advice.”

The consulting detective’s face wrinkled up in slight distaste. “Oh please, Lestrade, do we have to do this? Don’t you have ‘friends’ you can pester with your little problems?”

“Sure, I got mates. But I highly doubt Mycroft would appreciate it if I started discussing his personal life with half of the Yard.” Greg sat down on ‘John’s’ chair, getting himself comfortable.

“This is about Mycroft?” Sherlock sounded almost insulted.

“Look I know you’re not his biggest fan, but I also know that you care more than you let on. I’m not an idiot, Sherlock. I am - to quote you - moderately observant.”

“Goldfish - a moderately observant goldfish.” Sherlock corrected.

“Nevermind that. I need help, Sherlock.”

“And why should I care? You said yourself this doesn’t involve any interesting murders.”

“Because you cared enough about me that Moriarty had me on his list. And because you care about your brother, whether you admit it or not. And because you are the only person in the universe who really understands how Mycroft thinks and who knows him. So I have no one else I can ask for help.”

“If I told you, you can win his heart by buying him tickets to the Rocky Horror Show, you wouldn’t believe me, I guess?”

“Since when do you know the… nevermind. No, I wouldn’t.”

Sherlock grinned as he perched on the couch. “I looked up on musicals after the “Les Miserables” debacle. Anything I might use to annoy my brother is not a waste of brain space.” 

Greg sighed. “Sherlock…”

The consulting detective bit his lip. “What do you want to know, Lestrade?”

“Can it work? - Look I know your brother can be an annoying twat and has a list of problems longer than my arm, I’m willing to deal with that. I really, really care about Mycroft. But your brother nearly broke my heart when he shut me out after I asked him on a date. And if I’m any judge of character it wasn’t easy for him either. You know him. You are one of the most cynical bastards I know when it comes to interhuman relationships. So I ask you: is there any chance this might work? Because if there is, I’m willing to take the risk. I’m going to throw my heart in with that idiot brother of yours.”

“And if I say no?”

“I don’t know,” Greg confessed. “I really don’t.”

“Really? God, Lestrade can you really be that blind to the obvious? People only ask for opinions to have others strengthen their resolve. If they hear something opposed to their own subconscious decision, they refuse to listen. You just told me if I said ‘yes’ you would listen to me but if I said ‘no’ you wouldn’t. You really don’t need my input on this one.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and went over to the experiment he was currently conducting on the kitchen table. The conversation was obviously over.

Greg got up as well to leave. His heart was a lot lighter than just a few minutes ago. “Thanks Sherlock.” 

When he was going down the steps he heard Sherlock hollering “I won’t be held responsible for any consequences of YOUR decision, Gomez.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's thoughts throughout that talk "Oh NO - I WON'T be dragged even further into your drama. NO WAY. FORGET IT!"


	19. The Last Frontier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is invited INTO Mycroft's sanctum sanctorum. They finally talk. To each other.

Greg had been tempted to text Mycroft at first, because he knew the older Holmes hated that form of communication. But then he decided against it. He really wasn’t that petty of a person and it would have been a shitty start for what he wanted to do. So he called Mycroft instead.

“Gregory?” 

Lestrade had known both Holmeses for long enough to recognize the emotion behind the mostly calm voice. He also felt a wave of relief when he heard his name instead of the cold, professional ‘inspector’ on which they had parted. He hadn’t expected any different after Anthea’s visit but hearing it with his own ears was still different.

“Mycroft.” He let all the warmth and affection he held for the other man flow into his voice. One of them had to start not holding back anymore. “We should meet - and talk.”

There was a short pause as the government official obviously processed his words. “I agree. When would be convenient for you?”

Greg grinned into the phone. “I really don’t care, Mycroft, whatever time and place works best for you. My schedule is a bit more flexible than yours after all - plus you know it and can pick a date that works for both of us.” He wanted the older Holmes to be as comfortable as possible for their talk because he knew the topic of their conversation would make him anything but.

“How about tomorrow at six?”

“Sounds good to me. Where?”

“You remember my address?”

Mycroft’s home? - Now that was a surprise. He had been there to collect the government official before the conference but he hadn’t been inside yet. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Very well. - I’m looking forward to it.” Another short pause followed. His last words were spoken with an uncharacteristic warmth. “Goodbye, Gregory.”

“Goodbye, Mycroft.”

 

Despite the terrible traffic that was so typical for London, Lestrade arrived at Mycroft’s home on time. He considered waiting until it was exactly six o’clock before he rang the doorbell but decided that even the handful of minutes would probably drive him crazy.

Mycroft opened immediately. He was dressed as immaculately as ever, his only concession to being at home being the absence of his brolly. He greeted Greg with the slightly nervous smile of a man who didn’t often entertain guests.

“Gregory. Do come in, please.”

Lestrade entered and hung his jacket on the coat rack in the hall. He couldn’t help but study what he could see of Mycroft’s home. Dark woods and massive furniture gave the whole place a distinctly traditional look. There weren’t any sentimental knickknacks or family photos on the walls and yet the place looked lived in - a row of shoes in the hall not quite perfectly arranged, a book lying on the sideboard, put away mid-reading because something had distracted the reader, little things in an otherwise very tidy environment. The door to the kitchen stood open. The contrast was staggering - a light-flooded room with the most modern fixtures, practical in every way.

“And what do you think?” Mycroft asked once Lestrade had had a good look.

Greg grinned. “It’s very ‘you’. - I like it.”

A slight blush showed on the British Government’s cheeks. “Well…” He cleared his throat. “I put the kettle on. Is a light Assam alright for you?”

“You know me - I’m not too picky. Assam’s fine.” Greg assured him. He took a seat in the kitchen while Mycroft took care of the tea. He watched the elder Holmes carefully as he prepared everything. At first he was fussing a bit, obviously nervous, but the ancient English ritual of preparing a pot of tea slowly calmed him down. Greg waited quietly. Finally Mycroft poured two cups for his guest and himself and sat down.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The government official sat down opposite of Greg, keeping the safe distance of one kitchen table between them.

Lestrade took a deep breath. “So I better start I guess.”

Mycroft sat up a tiny bit more upright, an impressive feat given his normal posture. He steeled himself for what was about to come, ready to listen attentively to anything Gregory might have to say.

“Look I get that you were startled, when I asked you out. And I know that it’s a risk. I don’t want to lose our friendship, Mycroft, and if that’s the only thing I’ll ever get from you then fine. But if you are at least a tiny bit interested in me then I’m ready to take the risk.”

“I’m not a tiny bit interested, Gregory. I’m interested in you very much. But I’m also terrified.”

It was stated so matter-of-factly that Greg knew, Mycroft had thought about this long and hard. And he needed the other man to open up to him. “Go on.”

“I haven’t been with anyone since university. I certainly have never had anyone approach me first. And things have grown more complicated since my student days. Most of the time I’m not a master of my own schedule. There are levels of secrecy and national security involved that I can’t even talk about. And I’m really, really bad at dealing with real people and what you might call ‘normal’ emotions. Sherlock is the people person.”

Greg snorted. Mycroft looked indignant. “Sorry. Look, I get it. You’re not easy to deal with. I’ve known you for almost a decade after all.”

“Most of that time our relationship has been strictly professional. I’m capable of dealing with social niceties in a professional environment. I can spend hours exchanging pleasantries, smiling all the while and never insult even the most easily offended ambassador. But that’s a mask. That’s not me. I’m a moody, arrogant, antisocial sod who is emotionally distant and cold.”

“You forgot the ‘control freak’. If you want to warn me away you should remember all of it.”

Mycroft blinked at the still relatively light tone.

“Also you’ve forgotten ‘insecure’ and ‘self-deprecating’. I know your bad sides, My, I really do.”

The elder Holmes’ eyes widened at the intimate abbreviation of his given name but he didn’t protest.

Greg put his cup away and took Mycroft’s hand. “I’m terrified as well.” He confessed. “Terrified that you’ll see what a terrible idiot I am compared to you. Terrified that you’ll decide I’m too emotional, too dumb, or simply too common to be worth your time. Terrified of losing your friendship and respect. I’m a slob when I’m at home. I get too invested too quickly. I spent far too much time at work - well I guess we got that in common at least - and I consider Sally Donovan a friend.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but smile at that last bit. “You could never lose my respect, Gregory. That’s simply not who you are.”

“So? What do we do now?”

Mycroft stiffened in surprise. He hadn’t expected Gregory to put the ball back into his corner. He had prepared to let the inspector take the lead in this. But now he was in control. He smiled gratefully.

“I have a free evening on Thursday. How would you feel about Italian?”

“Italian sounds great.”


	20. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally!

‘Fredo’s’ was a small restaurant with an interior that allowed the patrons to eat in peace, keeping their privacy protected. Lestrade was surprised when he saw it for the first time. He had expected a bigger, more upscale place, but this actually looked like somewhere where he would be able to afford the food - well maybe not on a daily basis but certainly as a treat from time to time. The entrance to ‘Fredo’s’ was hidden in a side street, definitely not the place he would have expected Mycroft to frequent regularly. Going in he was greeted by friendly professionalism and escorted to the table once he told them he was here for the Holmes’ reservation. Mycroft was of course already waiting for him.

“Gregory.” The government official stood up to greet him.

“Hello, Mycroft.” When Lestrade moved to sit down, Mycroft surprised him by suddenly moving to his side. It wasn’t often that you got the British Government pulling out your chair for you. “Thank you.”

The elder Holmes smiled. “I might be a tad old-fashioned from time to time.”

“No need to apologize.” Greg watched his date walking to his own chair sitting down. He usually wasn’t a fan of all too formal clothes, but Mycroft wore his suits so very well. “I have to confess this isn’t what I expected.”

“I don’t come here often. Usually when I go out for dinner it is because of work, high-end restaurants where you have to reserve months in advance unless you have the right connections.” Seeing Greg’s eyebrow raising in question, he continued. “At Fredo’s we don’t run the risk of running into any of my work relations - and I want this evening to be about us. Besides the food is better than at most of those dreadful places.”

Greg chuckled. “You really don’t like many things about your position.”

“I don’t like pretense. In my experience a really good restaurant is defined by its food and service, not by long reservation lists and terrible decor.”

“Like a really powerful man can afford to treat everyone with respect instead of looking at people as if they were something unappetizing they found on the underside of their shoe.”

“I usually reserve that expression for people who worked to deserve it.”

“I know.” Greg assured him with a smile.

They looked at each other. Mycroft studied the laughter lines in Gregory’s face. He was always astounded to find someone whose face was the living proof that despite everything they had kept their positive outlook. When he caught himself staring into those terribly warm eyes, Mycroft cleared his throat.

“How about we order something to drink?”

“A red would go well with the food.” Greg gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “Although the wine card will probably go way over my head.”

Mycroft looked at him very seriously. “Do you trust me, Gregory?”

“You know I do.”

“Then I would recommend a bottle of the 2001 Saint-Emilion for the two of us.” He leaned back with a satisfied smile.

Greg was still chuckling when the waiter came over after Mycroft signalled him.

After they had ordered the wine, they began studying the menu.

“How do you feel about a couple of bruschetta?” Greg wanted to know.

“I’d rather not.” Seeing Gregory’s slightly worried expression he felt the need to explain. “I want to leave some room for dessert.”

“Sounds like something to look forward to.” The smile rising on the inspector’s face at his explanation was warming the elder Holmes like the sun.

Mycroft ordered some tagliatelle with salmon and rocket in a tomato sauce while Greg decided on penne with stripes of beef and courgette. They spent the time until their meals arrived chatting amiably. It was almost like the many meetings they’d had before. The nervousness they both felt at the start quickly evaporated yet a certain tension still remained. The slight tingly feeling in Greg’s stomach had nothing to do with the excellent food and all with the man before him. He could have spent the whole night just watching Mycroft’s extremely expressive face. It was so rare to see him this animated, not once resorting to a bland mask or the polite, professional smile he wore for the world to see.

Mycroft Holmes had to fight the instinct to close up. Decades of first climbing and then working at his position had taught him to keep his cards close to his chest, so much so that it had long since become second nature. Or in the interest of complete honesty, it had been his nature to begin with or he would have never been that successful. Even with his family he masked his feelings most of the time, hiding behind exaggerated sighs and eyerolls how much they really meant to him. But he trusted Gregory. Gregory had earned that trust. So he did everything he could to not hide from him - not tonight.

Greg wished he could be half as witty as Mycroft, the man could make him chuckle or laugh with a simple sentence. His own attempts at humour were far less eloquent yet they seemed to be enough. The British Government smiled warmly at him when he talked and he could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks. When Mycroft took off his jacket and opened his cuffs just in time for dessert, Greg almost choked on the wine.

Mycroft blamed the wine and the heat in the restaurant. He was getting warmer by the minute and if he hadn’t taken off his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up, he wouldn’t have felt able to face the tiramisu - a true sin against the culinary gods. The wine and the company were excellent and he knew that he hadn’t had this much fun since university. When Greg’s fork snuck over to his plate to steal some of his dessert he hardly even protested.

Seeing Mycroft pout over a piece of stolen tiramisu had to be the single most adorable thing Greg had ever seen. Since he was far too soft-hearted for a seasoned copper he couldn’t be so cruel as to ignore it. He took a piece of his own tiramisu on his fork and fed it to a surprised Mycroft. They weren’t used to it of course and the older Holmes got a bit smeared around his mouth. When he saw the British Government licking his lips clean, he couldn’t resist anymore. 

Greg leaned forward, nearly knocking the candle over in the process, and finally kissed Mycroft Holmes.

 

EPILOGUE

Greg collapsed into a heap of groggy bliss next to the equally sweaty body of his lover. Most nights they were so tired that they simply just crawled under the covers and blacked out cuddled to each other minutes later. But what they missed out in quantity they more than made up for in ferocious, passionate nights like this. It wasn’t perfect but it was close enough for him.

“My-Love, why didn’t we start this far earlier?”

“Because you were married when we met. Oh and because I was an idiot of course.” He put a soft kiss on Gregory’s lips. “Now sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a fun ride and I want to thank everyone who stuck around and read, commented, or left a kudos. You guys are great and it wouldn't have been half as much fun without you.
> 
> I don't think I'm quite done with this pairing so I hope to see you around <3


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